Barbed Wire
by heartbeat311
Summary: Their tangled relationship was something to hold onto, and something for him to fight against. He was caught, one half of him wanting to escape, and the other half wanting to bleed to death. In 1970, Rorschach fell in love for the first and last time. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

There was once a time when Jackie thought she was above drowning her sorrows. She'd started drinking when she was sixteen, sneaking beer from her parents' stash- the bottles they kept in a box in their closet next to the condoms. She isn't a complete prude- she'd gotten drunk and had suffered her fair share of hangovers. But never before had she drank to run away.

"Fuck," she whispers into the bottle, her breath ghosting down the neck to create an eerie howl. She smirks bitterly and shakes her head. "Fuck," she repeats and takes another drink.

She's never drank at Dan's house before this. Sometimes she can get away with sneaking a few bottles but she never drinks here. It's a night of firsts for Jaclyn Lacy.

She finishes the bottle quickly, drowning her tongue with the flavor she can no longer taste. This is her third...or is it her fourth? She shakes her head, wondering idly if she can walk without assistance.

Rorschach will not be pleased. Dan never cares if she drinks or not- _he_ is not the reason she's never enjoyed a fresh beer here after patrol. But Rorschach...Rorschach hates that she drinks anyway, but so long as she never does it in front of _him_- or talks about it, for that matter- he is content to berate her for other things.

Like Vicki.

Jackie curls her lip in disgust and goes to take another sip from her bottle, forgetting it's empty. A single drop plunks onto her lower lip and she swips at it with her tongue, glaring accusingly at the bottle.

"Bullshit," she spits and tosses the bottle aside. It twirls almost gracefully into the other empty bottles, standing like sentries at a battle post, and knocks them over like bowling pins. One clatters to the floor and explodes into dozens of spinning brown crystals. Jackie watches them for a moment, entranced, until she hears a loud rush down in the basement.

The boys are back from patrol.

"Oops," she whispers to the pieces of glass, as though sharing a secret. A laugh hisses through her teeth and she carefully tries to stifle it, shoving out of Dan's rickety kitchen chair.

Immediately she nearly sinks back into it. "Shit!" she hisses and throws an angry glare at the chair.

The room doesn't spin, but it does move in a slow and deliberate dance that Jackie tries to keep up with. She shuffles to the corner of the kitchen where an old broom leans against the wall. Before she can reach it, however, the basement door creaks open.

"Jackie," Dan says, blinking in surprise. He has already taken off his uniform and his hair is mussed from his cowl. Behind him, Rorschach stares at her silently, inkblots churning restlessly.

She smiles and stumbles toward them. "I...I decided to wait for you," she explains, leaning heavily on Dan's chest.

"You're drunk," he states, easing her gently back toward the chair.

"_Shh_!" she urges and points at Rorschach. "Don't tell him! He's a stick-in-the-mud."

Dan only nods, sitting her down. "I know, I know," he murmurs.

Jackie glares at him, suddenly aware of where he is putting her. "You know, for someone as rich as you," she begins stringently, "you'd think you'd invest in better furniture."

"Yeah, you'd think that," Dan agrees, grabbing the broom and the dust pan. Jackie watches, still smiling, as he kneels before her and cleans up the mess of glass. After a moment, she reaches out and touches the top of his head, stroking her fingers through his hair. "You have lovely hair," she croons, rocking from side to side.

"I have a special shampoo I use," Dan replies absently and carries the glass pieces to the trash can. When he turns around, he smiles at Jackie. "Now what do you say I take you upstairs and you get some sleep, okay?"

Jackie smiles back. "Okay," she agrees easily, reaching for him in an embarrassingly childish gesture she will regret in the morning.

Dan takes her hands in his and helps her to her feet, then wraps one arm around her shoulder as she staggers heavily against him. He turns to Rorschach. "Laurie's number is on the fridge," he murmurs in a low tone. Then, gripping Jackie tightly, he strides out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Jackie drifts down the hall with him in a blurry haze, giggling and muttering things to him. She isn't fully aware of what she's saying, and won't remember in the morning anyway.

She only barely remembers Dan lifting her into bed and wrapping the thick comforter around her.

~r.~

The creak of the door as it opens impales Jackie's ears. She groans but refuses to open her eyes.

Someone flips on the light in the bedroom. It gathers on her eyelids and the blood pulsing heavily behind her skull. She groans again.

"Turn off the light," she grumbles.

There is a moment of silence. Then footsteps as someone comes closer.

A moment later, something splashes onto her face, jarring her out of her stupor. With a gasp, she sits up in bed, choking on the liquid that has splashed into her mouth and nostrils- coffee, she realizes. Eyes wide with shock, her startled gaze lands on Rorschach standing a few feet from the side of her bed.

"What the hell was _that _for?" she demands breathlessly.

"Heard coffee was good for hangovers," he replies.

She groans once more, pressing her hand against her temple as though she can force the pain away. "You're an asshole," she mutters. _At least the coffee was cold, _she thinks to herself.

"You were pathetic last night," Rorschach replies. His voice remains relaxed, and yet he somehow manages to sound scathing. The disapproval rolls off of him in waves and much as she tries to ignore it, she feels the shame creeping up her spine.

"You always know just what to say, Rorschach," she mutters. She shakes her head and immediately regrets the sudden movement.

"Stop joking, Jaclyn," he snaps.

"Oh, calm down, Rory, I just had a few drinks-"

"Four."

She glares at him. "Yeah. Four. Get the fuck over it," she growls.

"You chose drinking over patrolling," he rumbles. "Last night, you were no better than the rest of the scum in this city. Lives were lost last night. Tell _them _to get over it."

Guilt accompanies the shame, weighing heavily on Jackie's shoulders. She hangs her head and nods. "I...I know, Rorschach, and I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I just...Vicki and I got into a fight and she...told me she never wanted to see me again." The pain of the memory brings tears to Jackie's eyes but she fights them back.

"No excuse," Rorschach growls, but his voice- by infinitesimal increments- is softer. "The city needs you."

She nods, looking up at him without blinking. "Yeah."

"Will expect to see you out there with us tonight."

"Okay."

Though she cringes at the thought.

Then another thought crosses her mind, a memory, and she furrows her brow. "Last night...when Dan was, er, helping me out of the kitchen..." She trails off, for a moment overcome by embarrassment. It was bad enough getting shitfaced in front of Dan. But Rorschach?

He nods. "Go on," he commands.

"Dan said that Laurie's number was on the fridge," she continues and raises an eyebrow curiously. "Did you call her?"

The idea seems ludacris in her mind, a near impossibility. But in her mind she can hear Dan's voice, the seriousness in it.

Rorschach tenses but does not hesitate. "Yes," he responds. "Met her on patrol last night. Dan offered to help her with a case she's been chasing." The clear displeasure in Rorschach's voice borders on mutiny. Jackie struggles not to smirk.

His pure loathing of Laurie Jupiter...and her mother...and women, in the abstract...was not lost on her. Hell, it had taken almost three years before Rorschach warmed up to _her_, and she considers herself lucky it happened at all. It's not all women, she knows. Once in a blue moon he finds one he thinks is honorable. But he still doesn't trust them and he certainly never associates with them.

"What case?" Jackie inquires.

"New Underworld lech. Lightning Jack. Ran the market for five years on heroin. Has a new trade but we're not sure what it is," Rorschach responds.

"Brings home the bacon, though?"

Rorschach nods. "In the hundreds of thousands."

Jackie nods thoughtfully. "Obviously illegal."

"Obviously."

She grimaces at his dry tone. "Okay, you don't have to get all fucking snarky with me," she grumbles. "I think it's time you left."

"Probably right. Patrol in two hours."

Jackie stifles another groan and instead looks hopefully at the coffee cup in Rorschach's hand. "I'll need some coffee to shake off this hangover. Do you think you could warm up a cup for me?" she inquires sweetly.

Rorschach snorts and tosses her the cup, which she barely catches. "It's your fault you're hungover," he says, turning to leave. "Warm up your own coffee."

Gritting her teeth, she rolls clumsily out of bed. "Worth a try," she mutters at his retreating form.

"Oh, and Jaclyn."

Jackie pauses and looks up. Rorschach's body is halfway out the door, his head turned toward her.

"Always thought Vicki was a whore anyway."

A surprised grin spreads across Jackie's face. "You think everyone's a whore," she teases.

"Only the women _you _date," Rorschach replies and walks out.

The smile stays with Jackie all two hours she spends preparing for patrol.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, all! So, after all this time, I've decided to try out a new story! I don't know if I'll finish it, but we'll see how you all like it and then continue from there. Please read and review!


	2. Chapter 2

NOTE: Hello, all! Thanks to my reviewers/followers! Glad to see there's some interest in this story. Just a quick note- this story jumps around a lot in the timeline. For instance this takes place nine years before the first chapter. I know you all are smart, brilliant people but I can sometimes make plots overly confusing. Anyway, please read and review! ;)

There was never any doubt in her mind growing up- Jackie was going to be a vigilante.

Like most kids during the Minutemen craze, she delved deep into the franchise. Collecting newspaper clippings of Nite Owl and Silhouette and- her favorite- the Comedian. Creating colorful patchwork costumes from old scarves and abandoned dresses. Drawing cartoons of fantastic adventures in the dead of night, defending the city of New York from terrible evil.

Then she grew up and the world tossed her into her own dream like a discarded ragdoll.

Now, at barely eighteen years of age, she stands in an alley, rain dripping down her lips and the tip of her nose, blood dripping down her fingers. She stares at the body beneath her, lying in a tangle of rain-soaked clothing and broken bones. She cannot quite believe it. His death is still fresh on her hands.

"Close yer mouth, girlie, you'll swallow a fly," a gruff voice growls from somewhere close by. The Comedian stands there, a towering mass and leering grin, muscular arms bulging where they sit crossed over his chest.

Jackie obeys slowly; her jaw weighs a hundred pounds. In her mind, she replays the scene from only a few minutes before. Chasing the man- _multiple counts larseny and evading arrest_, she recites numbly in her mind and then shakes her head. God, did she even know this man's name?- through two levels of his tenement building. Slamming past a woman with a baby on one arm and a little boy attached to the other. Skidding to a halt as the man crashed through the window at the end of the hall. Looking down into the rainy alley to see a tall, brooding shadow strangling her target.

The shadow had looked up and leered at her, clutching her target against his chest in a casual chokehold. "Lose something?" he asked, barely seeming to notice the feeble struggles of the other man.

She blinked, mouth falling open. She dimly noticed that her hands, clutching the bottom of the window frame, were bleeding from the broken glass. She had never seen the Comedian except in newspaper articles and the occasional glimpse on the TV in Darryl's pub. Now there he stood, looking very real and very mean.

_A pit dog, _she thought warily, eyes on his gleaming teeth.

"Well, girlie?" the Comedian continued. "Cat got yer tongue?" His teasing tone had a venemous edge, the allure of the snake in the Garden of Eden.

"Uh, yeah," Jackie replied and then shook her head. "He's mine, I mean. My mark."

That feral grin grew wider, a pale slash in the darkness of the alley. "Well, then, why don't you come down and get 'im?"

Jackie hesitated, snared by a sudden jolt of fear. She examined the hard muscles rolling under the Comedian's flesh, the tendons protruding like snakes beneath his skin. Her eyes traveled from his broad, dangerous build to his cocked grin and glittering eyes.

By now she's heard the story- hasn't everybody? Silk Spectre, beat and nearly raped by the Comedian. Pictures never surfaced- Sally Jupiter, of course, having never pressed charges- but there were enough lurid descriptions floating around to gorge someone's imagination.

Jackie had a very active imagination. She didn't need pictures.

And yet, through it all, her childhood admiration remained. Like the rest of the world, she was strangely and perversely charmed by the Comedian.

"Okay," she said, nodding to him. "Be right down."

She headed down the back stairwell that lead directly into the alley, avoiding the main hallways. After her mad dash through them she didn't think she'd be very welcome, tabloid commodity or no.

He was waiting for her in the same spot, holding the man under his right arm. The man's struggles had grown feeble. He scrabbled weakly at the Comedian's flesh with one hand; his other hand pawed uselessly, flopping in an awkward, broken manner.

"You're Tripwire, aren't you?" the Comedian said and continued before she could respond. "I recognize the mask. Hard to miss. Nice touch."

Jackie blushed self-consciously and touched the chain-link mask that covered half her face with two fingers.

"Yep, that would be me," she replied nervously. "You're the Comedian. I recognize the pin," she said, pointing at the little yellow smiley-face button clasped to his uniform.

He grinned wider. "Well, Tripwire, it seems I have something of yours. You want it back?" He grasped the man's neck in one hand and held him out, like he was nothing but a doll. Immediately she understood what he wanted of her in a spark of terrible intuition- he wanted her to kill this man. It was printed across his face like the title page in a book.

Jackie backed away a step, suddenly confronted with the contorted, straining face of Mr. Larsony and Evasion.

"Uh, no, no, that's okay. You can have him."

The Comedian cocked his head, feigning confusion. "Aw, what's the matter? You aren't possibly scared of _this_ muthafucker, are ya?"

_He's teasing me_, Jackie thought with outrage, blood just beginning to boil under her skin. _Dangling my mark in front of my face like he just stole my new toy._

"No," Jackie growled, frowning. "Just not sure if I should kill him, that's all."

"Pussy," the Comedian spat tauntingly. "You'll never be a true vigi if you ain't killin' a few scumbags."

This was the thing that brought her up short, that hit her from a sore angle. _You'll never be a true vigi. _God, if she had a nickel for every time she'd heard that... She wouldn't have to work at Darryl's anymore, that's for sure.

His words were a champagne cork explosion inside of her, and before she knew what she was doing she strode forward and held out her hands. The Comedian grinned and threw the man into her arms; she caught him with a stifled huff, stumbling under his weight.

"Oh, God. Please. Don't hurt me," the man pleaded, rolling his eyes up to look at her beseechingly. They were half-hidden beneath his hair, matted with rain and blood and grit, but Jackie could see clearly every ounce of pain and terror in them.

She hesitated. It was all he needed. Twisting out of her grip, the man scrambled gracelessly away. The Comedian quickly stepped out to catch him, practically ramming his elbow down the man's throat- he choked and let out a faint whimper, and something clenched deep in Jackie's gut.

In a violent rush, the Comedian slammed the man up against the alley wall, one arm pressed tightly over his throat. Jackie watched with distant, horrified fascination as the man's legs kicked uselessly beneath him.

"Hey!" the Comedian barked, whipping around to face her. His smile was now a snarl. "Fuckin pussy. Either act like a vigi or get the fuck outta my sight before I beat the shit outta _you_."

Jackie stared at him for a long time, hoping the trembling she felt on the inside didn't show on the outside. Then she glanced back at the man, her mark, covered in blood from the broken glass, wrist broken and hanging.

_You'll never be a true vigi._

Narrowing her eyes, Jackie strode forward, letting those words sweep through her. The Comedian held the man against the wall while she placed her hands on either side of his throat. His flesh gave easily under her fingers; it was hot and wet, heartbeat pounding beneath it like drums.

She met his gaze once, then twisted his neck to the right. He fought her for a moment, tendons straining under the fragile skin. But after a moment, his neck gave with a startling pop and the flesh beneath her fingers suddenly felt looser. Like everything beneath it was swimming.

She pulled her hands away and stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then she skittered away, quick and light on her feet, hands held out in front of her as if she thought she could back away from them. There was blood on them, she realized. The red was bright and garish, a stop sign red. A heavy red.

The Comedian dropped the man's body. It landed with a crumpling crack, as though all his bones had suddenly come loose inside his body and rattled into a pile. Jackie flinched.

And now here they stand, above a dead man's body, drenched in the rain. Jackie slowly lowers her hands. She can't look at them anymore.

A small click makes her jump. She glances over to see the Comedian lighting a cigar, cupping his hands around the tip and the lighter. He takes a long, thoughtful drag and then points the cigar at her, one side of his mouth cocked up in a smirk.

"You ain't so bad," he says. "You got potential. But you gotta remember killin' ain't bad. Just in our line of work."

He sticks the cigar back in his mouth and brushes past her, chuckling to himself. She watches him go, until he is just a watery shadow far away from her.


End file.
